


Beneath A Kindly Sky

by Tomboy13



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: 1920, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boston Marriage AU, F/F, Jealousy, Oblivious Wynonna Earp, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:08:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25865662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomboy13/pseuds/Tomboy13
Summary: If you'd told Nicole Haught in 1917 that she would still be living in the wilds of Alberta in 1920, she'd have laughed in your face. But three years of loving Waverly Earp, and she's happier than she's ever been. That is, until faces from the past start causing a stir in the secret life they've built together.A Wayhaught Boston Marriage au, set in 1920. Title from the song 'Let the Rest of the World Go By'.
Relationships: Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught
Comments: 40
Kudos: 164





	1. Chapter 1

The dawn light finally crested the distant mountains, streaming down onto the plains and turning the fields into fool’s gold that rippled in the cool breeze of early summer. From her place in the yard, Nicole Haught blinked at the view, throwing down the stack of fence poles in her arms and stretching out some of the lingering fatigue in her long limbs.

“I’ll never get tired of that sight.” The man to her right smiled, running a grubby hand over his moustache and tipping his old-fashioned hat backwards on his head.

Nicole exhaled, tired eyes unwavering from the fields that led away from the ramshackle Homestead in every direction. “You can say that again, John Henry. If you’d told me in 1917 when I was chained to that factory line that three years on I’d be here, clinging onto the edge of the wild, I’d have called you a damned liar to your face.” Nicole was gratified to see her companion smirk at the curse from the corner of her eye. “But mornings like this make it all worth it.”

“That they do, and I’m grateful for every last one of them.” The farmhand said, a hint of wistfulness in his tone. Nicole nodded, but didn’t probe further. In the time she’d know her hired hand, he’d shown himself to be a man of hidden depths that by all accounts, he made sure remained hidden.

What she did know was that John Henry Holliday had been born in 1881, the same year as the famous shootout that brought his namesake dubious notoriety; such was the furore around the showdown that it spread like wildfire right across the 1500 miles of United States territory to Valdosta, Georgia, where in a fit of unearned pride at the shared surname, the younger Holliday’s parents had named him John Henry. Naturally, before he could even walk, he had been christened ‘Doc’ by everyone but his own mother, and he hated it as only a man with a ridiculous name could. His employers tried to remember to call him ‘John’, or ‘Henry’, or sometimes even ‘Holliday’; anything but ‘Doc’. Nicole would never begrudge a man the chance to redefine himself, and this one had been kinder to her than most she’d known. 

Shaking his head as though to remove an unwelcome thought, Doc continued. “Attractive landscapes aside, I should think a great many things make it worth it for you, Ms Haught.” He twinkled, and Nicole rolled her eyes, slapping his bicep with the back of her hand.

“None of that. I boxed your ears once for vamping me, I won’t hesitate to do it again.” She quipped with no malice in her voice. Doc grinned.

“I would not dream of it, m’am. I was merely commenting on the splendour of this fine morning.”

“Sure you were.” Nicole shook her head. Doc had rolled into town 3 months earlier on a snowy February morning, and with her partner’s permission, she’d hired him without a second thought. The war had been over for two years already, and while the boys had been steadily rolling back from the Old World, between the killing fields of Flanders and the ‘flu labour had become a scarce commodity; with just Nicole and Waverly to tend to it through the brutal Alberta winter, the farm had started the slow slump into disrepair, and Nicole was beyond glad to have another pair of hands on board to help. “Enough chat; grab the mallet and get hammering. I want to get the paddock fenced off by sundown if we can manage it.”

“You’re still fetching to get those horses?” Doc asked, bending to pick up the wooden mallet and a bag of iron nails. 

Nicole exhaled slowly, pursing her lips. “We barely got through planting this year now that the Farmerettes are gone. I don’t know how we’ll get the harvest in by manpower alone.”

“I did hear tell that the Gardner farm have a Fordson.” The man said mildly. “Could be just what we need.”

Nicole snorted, sticking her thumbs in her braces just above the belt, a habit she’d developed when she was embarrassed. “Well, the Gardners can afford $750 like it was tuppence for a drink. Until we start making a profit, I couldn’t get an auto-plow on hire purchase with the pope himself as a signatory.”

John Henry shrugged. “Maybe when Ms Waverly and Mr Chetri sell their book.”

“Maybe.” Nicole agreed, knowing that she’d never ask Waverly to invest her own hard-earned money into the farm unless it was absolutely unavoidable. They were a partnership in every meaning of the word, but Nicole had her pride.

“Breakfast is ready!” A sweet, lilting voice called from the narrow stoop that ran around the small homestead, as though summoned by Nicole’s thoughts. Doc politely pretended not to notice the way his workmate’s eyes lit up at the sound.

“Coming!” Nicole hollered back, running self-conscious hands over her tightly braided red hair, checking that not a strand was out of place. “Come on, John, I’m half starved.”

With a fond shake of his head, Doc followed his boss towards the house and the petite, feminine looking woman waiting patiently in the doorway, wiping her hands on a lace-frilled apron.

“You were up with the cock crow, weren’t you?” She asked as Nicole mounted the step.

“You know what they say about the early bird, Waves.” The redhead smiled, reaching out to give the younger woman’s hand a squeeze before their farmhand could catch up to them. At the gesture, Waverly smiled warmly, making Nicole’s heart beat a little quicker in her chest.

“I do, and this early bird had best get herself inside before the coffee is stone cold. I’ve made johnny cakes and there’s a scraping of jam left in the jar.” Nicole felt her tummy rumble at the words. She knew that they ate better than most of their neighbours, living off the income from the farm and Waverly’s work as a school mistress in the tiny town of Purgatory, but that didn’t meant they lived lavishly enough that coffee and jam at home weren’t treats rather than staples.

“Good morning to you, Ms Waverly.” Doc said, sweeping his hat from his head expressively in greeting. 

“Morning, Henry.” Waverly smiled back, and Nicole’s breath caught in her chest for the moment as she saw afresh the mega-watt smile that had half the county in love with the Earp at one point or another. “You go on in and get yourself some food before this one eats it all up.” Waverly winked and poked her finger into the other woman’s lean stomach.

“Much obliged.” Doc chuckled, heading inside to where the morning meal was laid out on the scarred, unvarnished wood of the kitchen table, leaving the two women alone on the veranda.

“Waverly Earp, you crafty fox.” Nicole grinned, stepping closer so that she could smell the familiar scent of Waverly’s skin and the Life Buoy soap she brought in bult at the druggist. Waverly bit her lip coquettishly, allowing herself to be pulled into strong arms.

“What can I say, I grab my chances when I see them.” She whispered, enjoying the feeling of her lover’s hands resting warm on her hips. Her fingers rested on Nicole’s chest, over the worn linen of the work-man’s shirt she wore around the farm. “You’ve lost a button again.”

Nicole smiled. “Leave it. No one sees me like this besides you and Doc.”

“Shame.” Waverly murmured, lips so close to her lover’s that she could almost taste the slightly antiseptic tang of her dental cream. “Because you look really handsome in them.”

“Is that so?” Nicole glanced over her shoulder into the dim light of the house, but although she could hear the clattering as Doc helped himself to a plate, they were well hidden from sight. She moved in for a kiss.

“What-ho! Innocent passer by approaching!” A shout came, causing the lovers to spring guiltily apart.

“Jeremy!” Nicole growled, annoyed at the interruption, and relieved that it was only the quirky, dapper scientist who had caught them in an almost compromising position. 

“Is it safe?” The man asked, holding his derby hat at face height like a shield.

“Yes, Jer, don’t be so dramatic.” Waverly laughed, idly brushing some dirt from Nicole’s shirt sleeve before turning to face her closest friend with a barely repressed sigh. “There is some breakfast in the kitchen, help yourself.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Jeremy bustled past the two homesteaders without a second’s hesitation, gesturing for Waverly to follow him with his canvas satchel. “I had a breakthrough on the medieval warm period chapter last night. I was talking to the black smith who lives at the bottom of the hill, and she said-“

Nicole let her head fall back in mock exasperation. Waverly laughed, pulling Nicole down to her own height and pressing a quick, firm kiss to her lips. “The work of a historian is never done.” 

“Don’t I know it.” Nicole agreed, trailing the pair into the kitchen where Doc was trying to shovel his johnny cakes into his mouth at an alarming speed. He wasn’t quick enough.

“Doc!” Jeremy cried, pulling out the chair next to the older man and all but jumping into it. “You’ll find this interesting.” He continued despite all evidence to the contrary. “What do you know about the linguistic development of the region post the 1300 drought?”

Doc looked momentarily pained. “I will confess not as much as I probably should, but I expect you’re about to rectify that, Mr Chetri.”

Over the table, Nicole and Waverly’s eyes met, sharing an invisible joke as the chatter washed over them, oblivious. 

\---------------------------

Waverly’s favourite time of day was the 45 minute walk from the small farm that she’d inherited from her father into the town that she’d called home for every day of her 22 years. The road was more of a rutted dirt track for the most part, treacherous in the spring thaw and hot as the sands of Egypt in summer, but come rain or shine, it was a blissful, uninterrupted 45 minutes of solitude with Nicole Haught. 

She could remember the first planting season in 1917 when the tall red head had stormed her way into Waverly’s life, along with 2 other women of the Farm Services Corps, come to do their bit for the war effort in the black soil of Alberta; could remember the first morning in June when she’d insisted on walking Waverly to the little town school, and the nervous half-smile that bloomed when Waverly agreed. They’d hardly missed a day since, bar the frozen winter seasons when the school, like the countryside around it, ground to a halt.

They walked in comfortable silence, hands brushing every so often, stealing small glances at each other. It was always a surprise to see Nicole in her street clothes, even after all this time; Waverly was so used to the corduroy pants and comfortable, baggy, button up shirts that the woman wore around the homestead and surrounding farm that seeing Nicole in the old-fashioned ankle length black skirt and starched white blouse she wore in public felt odd. Nicole hated it, which only added to the awkwardness. ‘The shackles of femininity,’ she’d called it once in a fit of melancholy.

“Look.” Nicole said, taking Waverly’s hand and pulling her to the scrub at the side of the road. Waverly, distracted by the feeling of warm hand in her own, took a second to realise what Nicole was pointing at. “It’s a falcon, I think?”

“A hawk.” Waverly answered, using her own finger to trace in the air. “You can tell by the shape of the wings.”

They watched for a few minutes more. “We’ll have to come out here one day with a blanket and you can teach your silly city ladylove your country ways.”

“I’m sure I could think of some country ways you’ve yet to learn, sweetie.” Waverly smiled, giving the back of Nicole’s hand a stroke with her thumb.

Behind them, the roar of a motor car as it struggled down the road sounded suddenly and unexpectedly, and without glancing back the two women continued their journey. Automobiles of all varieties were becoming more and more common in the metropolises that dotted the country like stars in an evening sky; Nicole had described as much one cosy evening over that first harsh November. Most of the hard-working, poverty-ridden families of the Ghost River Triangle however had little enough to get by without things like traction engines and self-propelled harvesters filling their heads with moonshine; hell for the most part, the meagre 160 acre plots allocated under the Dominion Lands Act was hardly enough to afford a mule to do the heavy lifting and keep food on the table at the same time. But for all Waverly’s idle interest in the new-fangled vehicle, she couldn’t bring herself to turn away from Nicole and waste precious moments of their morning, and the car shunted past unnoticed. It slowed briefly, idling in the centre of the lane, and then drove on.

As they neared Main Street (the only street, really, since the fire of ’15 reduced every wooden structure in Purgatory proper to ash and cinder), Waverly found herself smiling the same brittle grimace of a grin that she’d worn since her father had died, waving at passers-by and stopping to greet people in the queue already forming outside the general store. 

Purgatory was a one-horse town that had turned into a few-horses town when the turn of the century brought the railway. To Waverly, the limits of her world had always been the Rockies at her back, the town limit at her front, and as far as her imagination could venture between the pages of her books. She’d been happy enough with that, until Nicole.

“Waverly!” A masculine voice called out. At her side, Waverly felt Nicole tense. 

“Mr Hardy.” The younger woman smiled, turning to face the handsome, well-built man sauntering towards her, a slight limp in his left leg slowing his progress.

“Waverly, I’ve known you since I was in short trousers, you know you can call me Champ.” Champ smiled at her, a winning smirk that had had girls from Monument to Carstairs falling over themselves in a rush to swoon. It made Waverly think of the card sharks that hung round her aunt’s saloon, and she fought the urge to pull a face. 

“You know me, Mr Hardy, I’m all about propriety.” Waverly chuckled awkwardly. Nicole shifted on her feet, drawing herself up to her full height which was an inch or so taller than Champ. “We aren’t children anymore.”

“No, we aren’t.” Champ said, his honest, dim-witted face turning serious. He stepped closer, glancing for an instant at Nicole with the hint of a frown. “I wanted to talk to you on that, again. About my offer to step out one Sunday.”

“Oh.” Waverly swallowed, feeling suddenly very hot in her wool walking suit, the beige fabric heavy despite the mildness of the morning. “I-“

From behind them came the clanging of a brass bell, loud and jarring in the still air. Waverly jumped, staring fearfully over her shoulder to where her employer, Ms Lucado, the serious, stern headmistress of the town’s only school was ringing her handbell ferociously, as if to banish all her bitterness at being dumped in this corner of nowhere with each clang. She was watching Waverly with barely restrained annoyance.

“Gosh, I need to go before I’m late to class.” 

“But about this walk-“ Champ insisted, moving as if to grab Waverly’s wrist as she pulled away.

“Another time, _Mr_ Hardy.” Nicole said firmly, linking her arm with her companion’s and pivoting them away. Champ glared before fixing his face into polite acceptance and strolling away down the dusty street.

“You need to be kinder to him. He means no harm.” Waverly chided mildly as they approached the two-room, tin-roofed school building. 

“He means to steal you away, if he can.” Nicole responded in a low whisper, trying to keep the jealousy out of her voice. 

“I assure you, he can try.” Waverly smiled fondly, giving the red head’s forearm a final squeeze before disappearing through the door. After a moment, Nicole heard the headmistress’s perennial scolding drifting out.

On the walk back to the Homestead, Nicole took a detour, winding her way between the haberdashers and the post office to a squat, red brick building that was substantially larger than any other in town, with the exception of the grandiose hotel up the street. Pushing the door open, she was gratified to see the desk occupied by an older gentleman with a thick painter’s brush moustache and steel grey hair, reading from one of the day-old newspapers that rolled into Purgatory with the morning mail cart. He looked tired as he read, and when he saw the woman standing in front of him tapping her leather clad foot, he visibly deflated.

“Ms Haught.” He said, rising from his chair. The navy blue of his police uniform was spotless, the single-breasted buttons done up to the neck and the collar starched. On the desk at his side sat the standard issue felt Stetson, and Nicole eyed it hungrily for a moment before dragging her attention back to the matter in hand.

“Sherriff Nedley.” She said sweetly. “I wanted to enquire as to whether you’d had chance to review my application yet?”

The man inhaled a fatigued breath. “I have and I’m afraid it’s the same answer as last time. We don’t have positions open for females in the Purgatory Sherriff’s department.”

“They do in Edmonton.” Nicole said with false sweetness.

“What they do in Edmonton is their own business.” The Sherriff said with a look of distaste. Randy Nedley had lived at the foot of the Rocky Mountains for 61 years, and he had only a vague notion of what city people got up to. It involved filth and shamelessness, and women showing off too much leg. 

“I’m sure if you put some thought to it, Sherriff, you’d realise that female police officers have a great amount to offer the force. For instance, we both know that not a hundred yards from here there are a great number of women working in…shall we say…the hotel industry who would benefit from the understanding and protection of-“

“Ms Haught, I’ve heard enough!” Nedley almost shrieked, and Nicole thought with quickly tempered amusement that if he had been wearing pearls he would have clutched them. “This is exactly what I’m talking about! It is completely improper to be discussing such things with a lady like yourself! Now unless there was anything else, I will bid you good day.”

“Sherriff, I-“

“ _Good day_ , Ms Haught!” Randy Nedley said firmly. Nicole felt the fight leave her.

“Good day, Sherriff.”

Stepping out into the street once more, Nicole took a deep breath, plastering on a stoic expression and dusting herself off. Then, deciding against returning via the main thoroughfare and having to exchange pleasantries with the few people who gave her the time of day in the town, Nicole turned right and strode along the quieter, less kempt street towards home. 

There were few buildings on this stretch, just the Sheriff’s Office and, a little way off, the optimistically named Grand Hotel. It was a tumble down three storey, white-painted building that must have been fancy when it was built to accommodate the influx of rail passengers that never arrived. Now, with the plaster crumbling and the once-delicate cornices chipped and broken, it served as a rest stop for the occasional travelling salesmen and a bordello for the rest of the community. The women who worked there were keen eyed, and largely self-sufficient; they ran their own security, and kept themselves to themselves in a town full of people who would spend all week judging them and all of pay night enjoying their offerings. 

“Well if it isn’t the new Sherriff’s deputy, come to clean up the place.” A woman called playfully as Nicole walked by.

“And a good morning to you, Rosita. Not a deputy, and never will be if Randall Nedley has anything to say about it.” Nicole grumped. Rosita wrinkled her nose sympathetically. 

“You want to come in and get a whiskey, take the edge of?”

“At 9 in the morning?” Nicole pulled a face. “Maybe another day. I’ve got to get back and make sure Doc isn’t slacking off.”

Rosita laughed. “Sure. You tell that pal of yours that her favourite barmaid is still waiting on that visit. It’s been weeks!”

“I’ll tell her. Maybe we can have a card game one night?” Nicole asked, already backing away.

“You tell her!” Rosita repeated, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiled.

Just like Nicole, Rosita had come to Purgatory with the Farm Services Corps, and had been stationed at the Earp homestead. She’d never left Purgatory when her service ended, declaring that she had no where better to be and digging out a niche for herself as a fixture at the Grand Hotel’s never closing bar. Nicole often wondered if she hadn’t stayed just to annoy Bernice “Bunny” Loblaw, Purgatory’s local shame monger, and the friendship between the three women had done nothing to curb the whisperings about the ‘Earp farm spinsters’. The rumours stayed on the right side of proper though, given Waverly’s reputation as a kind, clean-living woman, and for that Nicole thanked whoever above was listening.

As she walked away, Nicole noticed a woman in a bucket hat and a rayon tea dress, the blue fabric hanging loose in the style that Waverly’s magazines insisted was becoming popular in Europe. She was pretty, with her pale skin and black hair hanging loose about her shoulders, but a slight set to the jaw and a glower in the eyes made her appear ill tempered; stand-offish. Nicole smiled anyway as she passed, and the woman scowled in return.

“It is not your day, Haught.” Nicole muttered to herself, and picked up her step, thoughts already on the day’s work ahead.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re going to miss her.”

Nicole puffed out a breath, her sleeves rolled high up on her biceps, her hair and face stained with dirt and sweat. “I’m not going to miss her.”

From where he stood on the bank, shovel in hand, Doc shrugged and gestured over his shoulder with his thumb to where the sun was creeping across the sky. “It’s after 5.”

Nicole stretched her head over the lip of the trench and squinted at the horizon. “It can’t be.” She said, uncertainty clear in her voice. “It can’t be later than 3…”

Doc sucked air through his teeth, his expression indicating what he thought of that assertion. “If you go now, you might meet her halfway.”

Nicole held her hand up, measuring the position of the sun. “Damn it all to darnation.” The woman growled, throwing down her spade and dragging herself out of the ditch with a series of muttered curses. “I need to buy a bloody watch.”

“Won’t last more than 5 minutes with this work.” John Henry said mildly, reaching into his inside pocket for his tobacco pouch and rolling a cigarette while leaning lazily on the handle of his tool.

“I was hoping to get cleaned up.” Nicole gestured down at her outfit, the brown oilskin overalls covered in black dirt and reddish clay, and the shirt underneath fairing no better. Taking a long inhale, she could smell the stink of her own sweat and the detritus they’d spent all afternoon digging out of the clogged drainage ditch. It wasn’t pleasant. “Can you make a start on clearing some of this and I’ll finish whatever you can’t move tomorrow?”

“You’re the captain.” Doc answered around the dog-end in his mouth, giving a teasing salute. “Enjoy your evening.”

Nicole rolled her eyes but didn’t respond, already striding up the lower field towards the Homestead. During the months between the snow fall and the thaw, their lives were hectic, the farm taking up more of Nicole’s time than she would have ever expected, and school running from 9-4:30pm or later in the summer, as the steely headmistress tried to make up for the lost time that her city-dwelling colleagues would never have to deal with. It left precious little alone time, bar their morning walk, more often than not both women eating a hasty supper alongside their farmhand before all three crawled off to their beds. Fridays were different. On Fridays, Nicole would try to meet Waverly as the school bell rang, and they’d take a meandering walk through the paths and tracks of their own corner of Canadian countryside, settling for a time at one of their favourite spots – sometimes the small twist in the creek where they could paddle barefoot, or in the thicket behind the old stone wall where they could kiss around mouths of wild blackberries without being seen. They’d wander home once the sun started to set, eat a late supper, and go to bed early, sometimes to sleep away the week’s fatigue, and other times…to do more energetic things. Doc knew to make himself scarce on those nights, although nothing had ever been spoken aloud; she had a vague notion that this unofficial night off led the man to the bordello more than was respectable, but she couldn’t begrudge him that, not when it gave her unfettered access to her own lonely human comfort. 

Reaching the newly constructed paddock fence, Nicole hesitated. She tried to smarten up when walking with Waverly, not willing to give the local tittle tattlers any more to hold over the young Earp’s head, but she also hated the thought of losing any more of their precious alone time to duck into the house and change into her street clothes. Making a snap decision and feeling the freedom of throwing caution to the wind, she hopped the fence, striding towards the track that would take her to the road. There were precious few people on that stretch at the best of times, and most of their nearest neighbours understood the need for practical attire when working the land; it wasn’t unusual to see children wandering around with britches made of old sacking and women with their skirts tied at the knee as they pulled up roots or baled hay, and even if the townsfolk baulked at it, Nicole knew that her fellow countrymen would understand. 

The sky was a clear, crystalline blue as Nicole walked, her heavy boots clumping as the mud dried and fell away, replaced by the grey dust of the highway. In the waving grass on either side, crickets chirped and away in the distance the sound of crows squawking sounded loud across the empty plain. From somewhere in the direction she had come came the sound of a motor car chewing up gravel as it roared forwards, and it would have registered as strange, hearing two automobiles in one day, but at that moment Nicole’s eyes alighted on a figure in the distance and her mind was washed clean of any thought but: Waverly. Although the person on the road was too far away to make out clearly, Nicole recognised the eager, bouncing walk of her lover, and it made her heart sing and her step quicken. In her keenness, she didn’t notice the sound of the engine had stopped altogether some way behind her. 

“What happened to you?” Waverly cried as she got within shouting distance, eyes lingering on the red head’s dirt stained clothes and muck-encrusted skin. Nicole grimaced, running her hands over her face and hair, chagrined when clumps of dried mud dropped out, raining across the floor and pattering on the hardy surface of her overalls. Waverly stopped a few feet ahead of her partner, hands on hips and a playfully annoyed expression on her brow.

“Doc reckons there will be rain by Sunday, and the ditch in the lower field is all clogged with…with…” Nicole’s words trailed off under Waverly’s scrutiny, and she blushed a little, rubbing a grubby hand on the back of her neck. “We lost track of time.”

“And you thought you’d bring samples with you for me to see?” The younger woman raised an eyebrow. 

“I didn’t want to waste any of our time.” Nicole said honestly, reaching out a hand but stopping short of Waverly’s wrist, conscious of the pristine white of her gloves and the soft beige material of her carefully cared for jacket. “I live for the moments I get with you, Waverly Earp.”

“Charmer.” Waverly smiled, her eyes crinkling in the corners as she pulled off her gloves and took Nicole’s hand in her own, running both thumbs over the mottled skin for a moment. Hating herself for it, Nicole glanced quickly around but as predicted they were alone. “Let’s get you home and washed up.”

Nicole pouted. “But what about our walk?”

Waverly smirked, dropping the woman’s hand, and absent-mindedly using a pocket handkerchief to clean her fingers. “Let’s get you a bath, and then we can see what we want to do.”

Nicole perked up a little at that, her thoughts wandering to what that might mean, shamelessly, as everything with Waverly felt: Pure, and proper, and utterly shameless, no matter what rest of the world’s opinions might be on the matter.

They turned and walked together at a slower pace towards home, zigzagging aimlessly and sharing titbits of their days. Lucado had caned the palm of Bethany Shelley’s hand again for writing with the left; Doc had found a 50c coin with a letter B scratched over the king’s head. By the time they reached the homestead, they were mostly quiet, enjoying the sound of each other’s footsteps and the cooling air. Ahead of them, the door to the barn opened and Doc stepped out, his work clothes replaced with his Friday-night best, his moustache waxed and a swagger to his step. When he saw his employers, he tipped his hat roguishly. 

“Good evening to you, ladies.”

“And to you, John.” Waverly smiled, before frowning comically. “It seems you fared better than your mate today.”

Nicole sniffed, instantly regretting as the stench of stagnant water and hard-work hit her nostrils. Doc held out his hands. “What can I say, Ms Earp, some of us are made to toil and some of us are made to supervise.”

“Well that’s nice.” Nicole huffed, folding her arms. “I do believe the supervisor round here, so why was I doing all the work as well?”

Doc stroked his whiskers. “A good leader goes ahead of his troops, or so I have heard.”

Nicole opened her mouth to bite back, but Waverly interrupted. “Have you eaten, John Henry? Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“Thank you kindly, m’am, but I have a prior engagement in town.” Nicole pulled a face, and Doc, ever the gentleman and ever the rogue, winked.

“Has this one given you your wage packet?” John nodded, patting his breast pocket where his week’s earnings nestled close to his chest. “Then have a nice evening, Henry.” Waverly said with a smile, before turning and walking towards the main house.

Nicole backed away, grinning. “Yes, do give Rosie our best.”

“Always do.” Doc smirked, before adjusting the hat on his head and strolling away into the lengthening shadows.

Stepping into their little shack was an instant relief, and as she closed and locked the door, Nicole felt any residual tension seep from her shoulders and neck, loosening and easing the muscles as their shared privacy fell around them like a warm blanket. Waverly busied herself pulling the cheap, thin curtains across the windows, lighting the oil lamps and moving to set the fire in the stove. 

“Leave that. Kiss me.” Nicole languidly reached for her sweetheart, only for the smaller woman to shriek and bat her hands away.

“No you don’t, Nicole Haught!” Waverly wagged her finger in caution, and Nicole held up her hands in retreat. “Not until you’ve had a proper bath.”

Nicole groaned. “Can’t I just have a wash? A bath will take forever, and I want-“

“ _I_ want a clean companion.” Waverly insisted. Nicole felt the familiar flicker of disappointment cross her face at the throwaway word, which they hid behind like a shield and which did no sort of justice to the reality of their connection. ‘Companions’; ‘friends’; ‘old maids’; they were all the words that simultaneously derided and protected them, and Nicole hated every single one. Dampening the feeling down as quickly as it started, she moved towards the door, thinking to fill a few buckets from the standpipe and get the task of bathing over as quickly as possible. As she reached for the key, a small hand closed on her wrist.

“Just a small one.” Waverly whispered, already pressing her lips to Nicole’s. “Now, chop-chop, and I’ll help you wash your hair.”

By the time they’d warmed the water and poured it into the battered old tin bath that lived next to the stove and was dragged into the middle of the living room once a week, Nicole was fairly itching to be clean. As soon as Waverly dipped her hand in to test the temperature and gave the nod, the older woman was stripping off her coveralls and unbuttoning her shirt, tossing the clothes into a pile on the bare-wood floor. Then, more carefully, she slipped out of her brassiere and long johns, folding them into a neat pile and placing each on a stool that stood nearby, intending to wear them until Sunday wash-day. Finally, she released the tie that held her plait in place, removing each pin and sighing as the hair fell free and loose at her shoulders. She stopped suddenly, seeing hazel eyes boring into her. “What?”

Waverly started. “Nothing. The waters ready, best get in before it goes cold.”

Sinking into the tub, Nicole sighed again, closing her eyes in contentment. “That’s so good.” 

“I know.” Waverly murmured from where she knelt next to the bath, the sound tickling Nicole’s ear and causing her eyes to shoot open. “Shh, let me rinse your hair.”

Exhaling, Nicole shifted to a sitting position, enjoying the sensation as Waverly poured a bowl of the luke-warm water over her head, nimble fingers massaging the dirt out. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Do you want me to stop?” Waverly asked with mirth in her voice. Without waiting for an answer, she poured another scoop of water. Next to the bath, there was a rustling, and then the smell of the cheap-brand soap that Nicole used as and when needed, before the fingers were once again rubbing her hair into a lack-lustre lather. 

“Feels nice.” Nicole mumbled.

“I bet.” Waverly washed the soap from her hands in the now off-colour water, reaching for the mixing bowl she was using as a pourer. “You can do mine tomorrow, to make it up?”

“Always, my love.” Nicole agreed, shivering as another load of water hit her cooling skin. 

“You’re done.” Waverly rose slowly, leaning her weight heavily on the tin bath. At the words, Nicole pushed her mass of wet red hair from her face, quickly scrubbing away the last of the dirt clinging to her arms, neck and cheeks. “You have a letter.”

“A letter?” Nicole wiped the suds out of her eyes, puzzled at the change in Waverly’s tone. She sounded hesitant, almost worried.

“Mmhmm.” Waverly reached into her purse, pulling a crisp beige envelope out and holding it up as though it were something dangerous or distasteful. “The post mistress gave it to me this afternoon.”

Nicole squinted, recognising the handwriting almost immediately, and understanding with sharp clarity the reason for her lover’s altered demeanour. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Its from Shae.” Waverly prompted.

“It certainly seems to be.” Nicole agreed, rising from the bath, water cascading down her ivory skin. Waverly was temporarily distracted, her eyes tracking the droplets as they ran down Nicole’s breasts and stomach, her long limbs, catching in the fine hair at the apex of her thighs and glistening in the dim glow of lamplight. When she reached for the strip of terry cloth to dry herself, Waverly visibly blinked herself back to consciousness.

“What does she say?” The brunette asked, turning the envelope over in her fingers with a purse of her lips.

“I don’t know, Wave, I haven’t read it.” Nicole said calmly, stepping onto the cold cabin floor and grabbing a clean but heavily worn shirt that Waverly had left out, pulling it over her still damp skin without bothering to put a brassiere back on. 

“Well, don’t you want to?” Waverly asked, her forehead crinkled with concern. 

“I’ll read it later.” Nicole said with an unfazed half-shrug, pulling a pair of soft wool trousers up her hips and buttoning them before continuing, “Tonight, I want to be with you, and only you.”

“Yes?” Waverly asked with a hint of a smile. Nicole stepped closer, pulling the letter from Waverly’s fingers and tossing it haphazardly onto the small side table. Placing her hands on Waverly’s waist, she tugged until their hips met.

“Definitely.” She said, leaning down with every intention of showing the younger woman exactly how true that statement was. Waverly smiled, properly this time, showing her white teeth, and tip toed herself upwards, ready to receive what Nicole was offering.

A rumble broke the comfortable quiet of the homestead, and from outside in the darkening evening light, a glow as of the streetlights Nicole was used to from her days in Calgary lit up the yard.

“What on earth?” Nicole wondered aloud, subconsciously pushing Waverly behind her as the sound of the traction engine being cut off brought the stark night-time sounds of the prairies into fresh relief. The two women stood frozen at the sound of a door opening and closing, and footsteps crunching over the rough stony ground outside, moving steadily towards the house.

“I’ll get the gun.” Waverly whispered quickly, disappearing towards the cupboard under the stairs where the ancient double-barrel Weston lived. Nicole nodded, stepping towards the entrance and reaching for the fire poker, feeling foolish. By and large, they lived a safe and secluded life, knowing every face within a twenty mile radius and feeling no need to lock the door other than for privacy, but since the lads had begun to return from overseas, the number of drifters and n’er-do-wells had increased tenfold, leading to a large camp of itinerants out by the railway tracks who answered to no-one but their unreadable leader Bobo Del Rey. Everyone in Purgatory had heard stories of what they got up to, and Nicole wouldn’t chance Waverly’s safety for the sake of keeping face. 

The knock came again, more firmly, and a feminine voice called out, “I know you’re in there!”

Puzzled, Nicole turned the key, noting absently that it needed oiling, and opened the door. Outside, in the dusk stood a woman around Nicole’s age, dressed modern and with her black hair in ringlets like Mary Pickford had worn in a picture that Nicole and Waverly had seen the year before when the fair passed through. She looked familiar, and it took a second for Nicole to recognise her as the woman who had been scowling outside of the hotel earlier that day. 

The woman looked her up and down with an aggressive sort of confusion, before crossing her arms. “Who the hell are you?”

“Bless my soul!” Nicole turned her head, reluctant to move further in case the stranger tried to push her way in. Although slight, something in the way the woman held herself suggested a certain world-savvy, and Nicole wasn’t sure what would happen if it came to fisticuffs. Waverly was staring past Nicole, the shotgun hanging limply at her side and her free hand clutched to her heart. Nicole wanted to speak – wanted to ask what was wrong – but before she could get a word out, the stranger spoke.

“Hey, babygirl. You grew your…” She gestured in a mildly obscene manner before recovering, “…hair out.”

Waverly tilted her head in acknowledgement. “I can’t believe you’re here.” She said with a breathy lilt. “I can’t believe it’s really you, Wynonna.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to make this as close to life as possible without making it too stodgy; if you notice any glaring anachronisms, please do shout them out and I'll amend ASAP. 
> 
> A lot of credit for the historical understanding needs to go to Joyce Cundict's story on growing up in rural Alberta in the 20s, published on Macleans.ca, and my own late grandfather's many, many tales about his life in Ontario in the 20s and 30s.


	3. Chapter 3

“I can’t believe it’s really you, Wynonna.”

Wynonna held her arms up in demonstration, the bottle green velveteen of her dress shimmering in the lamp light. “In the flesh.” 

Nicole jumped back to avoid being barged out of the way as Waverly bustled forwards, throwing the shotgun onto a tea-chest by the door in a careless manner that made Nicole wince. Without hesitation, she launched herself into the stranger’s arms, squeezing tight. The lady grimaced, her hands hovering just above the muscle of Waverly’s back. Nicole clasped her own behind her, eyes drifting politely into the dim corners of their living room, uncertain of what was happening but not eager to intrude either. After a few seconds, she allowed her gaze to flit back to where the women were still embracing, Waverly's deceptively strong arms locked around the newcomer's thin shoulders; Wynonna was watching her critically, blue eyes narrowed in mistrust.

“So, are you going to invite me in?” Wynonna pulled back with a brittle smile. 

“Of course! This is your home!” Waverly tugged the woman forwards by her wrist. Without meaning to, Nicole’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“We haven’t been introduced?” She said with more than a hint of curiosity, stepping forward briskly and holding out her hand.

Wynonna regarded the offering, and then, with a slight lowering of her eyelids, gave it a single bone-crushing shake. “Wynonna. Earp.”

“Nicole Haught, pleased to meet you. Earp?” Nicole asked, surreptitiously trying to shake some feeling back into her stinging fingers. “Any relation to Waverly?”

Wynonna looked surprised and, just for an instant, hurt. “Keeping me a dirty secret, doll?” 

Waverly laughed nervously, shifting on the balls of her feet. “Wynonna is my sister.” She answered brightly, ignoring the betrayal in Wynonna's voice. “She’s been out in Toronto with the Munitionettes.”

“Ah!” Nicole nodded encouragingly, filing the moment away for a later conversation with her lover; she felt on more solid ground talking about war work than the revelation of a hidden sibling, and, awash on a suddenly unknown sea, she decided to swim with the current. “Always nice to meet a fellow Canary! I worked the line in Calgary.”

The brunette looked momentarily panicked, although Nicole couldn’t understand what might have startled her. Then she laughed, a little too loud for the small front room of the homestead, and swatted Nicole’s shoulder roughly. “Yes. Yes’m. Canaries together, right? Say, any chance of a cup of tea, babygirl?” Wynonna gestured at her throat. “I’m parched.”

“Of course, the stove should still be warm.” Waverly hurried towards the kitchen, Wynonna trailing in her wake, pointedly ignoring the other woman’s eyes. Nicole peered through the open front door into the yard, where in the rising moonlight she could see the outline of a large, expensive-looking silver motor car; it seemed impossible to imagine a factory girl affording such a thing – she herself had hardly been able to stretch her wages to afford board and the occasional outing with Shae – but perhaps she’d loaned it from a pal or a boyfriend. Pushing the thoughts away, Nicole dragged the half-full bath carefully onto the porch, tipping it into the soakaway that ran down the east side of the stoep, and propping the bath against the wall to dry. Gazing out across the dark fields to where the hulking mountains stood bold against the navy sky, she rubbed a weary hand over her forehead, allowing a moment of selfish mourning for the evening she could have had. Then, straightening herself up to her full height, she retreated back inside. Shutting the door and bolting it, Nicole shuffled into the kitchen, disliking the strange awkwardness that had descended on their home but determined to be sociable with Waverly's only remaining blood family.

Waverly was busy pouring hot water from the pan into the tea pot, her back to the door, but Nicole could fondly picture the way her tongue would be poking from between her lips in concentration as she held the handle steady. Wynonna had made herself comfortable, slouched in the seat at the head of the table, her legs crossed in an unladylike manner. She looked up as Nicole entered, her eyes dragging down the redhead’s body from the still damp hair hanging loose at her shoulders, to the raggedly casual men’s clothes, to her bare feet. Feeling almost naked under the scrutiny and not wanting to challenge the older woman so soon after they’d met, Nicole stared helplessly at Waverly’s back, willing her to turn around.

“Waves, I think you’re needed.” Wynonna called over her shoulder, attention never leaving Nicole. “I bet you’re waiting for your pay packet. Ready for the weekend, huh?”

Nicole’s brow furrowed. “No?”

Waverly placed the steaming pot in the centre of the table, setting three chipped china cups next to it with a weak little flourish. “’Nonna, Nicole _lives_ here. She runs the farm.”

Wynonna folded her arms, leaning back in her seat and fixing her sister with a hard expression. “She runs our father’s farm?”

“We both run _Waverly’s_ farm.” Nicole clarified, bristling in second hand indignation. “I just manage the day to day. I came during the war, and never left. Got attached to it, I suppose.”

Wynonna nodded, appearing thoroughly disinterested. “Good for you, Red. Waves, can you please pay the woman so she can go about her business and we can talk?”

Waverly wiped her hands on her skirt, before folding her own arms in a mirror image of her sister. “Wynonna, Nicole _doesn’t work_ for me. She’s my friend and…and partner. In the farm.” The school teacher clarified quickly, glancing at her lover with concern written large in her face. Nicole smiled soothingly, trying to offer some silent comfort.

Wynonna narrowed her eyes, running her gaze once again over Nicole’s outfit, her dirty nails, her unfeminine stance. “Fine. Sit down, Haught, and drink your tea.”

Nicole did as she was told; she drank in silence, self-conscious, trying to show an interest as the sisters talked at length about what had passed during the 6 years that elder Earp had been gone. The amateur detective in her, the one that drove her to apply for positions at the Sherriff’s office after already being refused four times, couldn’t help but notice the reticence that hung over the conversation like thick, grey mist. Waverly’s, she could understand; the unspoken intimacy between them, the Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name - it stilted her answers and made her second guess each line for fear of exposure. Wynonna’s seemed out of place, though. Nicole couldn’t put a finger on why or what, but by the time they rose from the table ready for bed, she was sure the brunette was hiding something. 

As the trio walked into the living room, Wynonna paused, blinking expectantly at Nicole. There was a tense moment of silence, before the woman gestured at the door with a tilt of her head, and Nicole realised what she was waiting for. 

“I don’t sleep in the worker's quarters.” Nicole said quickly. “We’ve got an actual farm hand, it wouldn’t be…appropriate.”

“And this is your home.” Waverly said firmly, stepping closer to Nicole’s side with a flash of familiar fire that made Nicole’s chest swell with warmth. 

“Hey, I’m not looking to upset the apple cart.” Wynonna held up her hands, but the placating movement was belied by the amusement dancing in her eyes. “I guess I’m bunking down with you then, sis.”

“What?” Waverly and Nicole both said in unison. 

“Well, I’m hardly going to kick Red here out of the spare room when there’s a perfectly good double in yours, am I?” The woman said with a roll of her eyes, already turning to move towards the master bedroom. 

“Nicole…” Waverly whispered as soon as her sister was out of sight, her voice heavy with indecision and apology. Nicole smiled, surreptitiously taking her lover’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

“It’s ok, sweetheart. A few nights apart won’t kill us.” 

Waverly looked unconvinced but nodded agreement, leaning in for a goodnight kiss but apparently thinking better of it halfway. “Sleep well?” she said instead, eyes full of longing as she followed in Wynonna’s footsteps and, with one last look, closed the door.

It wasn’t until Nicole got into the spare room, with the creaky single bed that had once been Ward Earp’s and its moth-eaten wool blanket that she knew already would scratch something awful, that she realised all of her night things were tucked inside Waverly’s bureau. 

“Great.” Nicole muttered. “Just great.”

\-----------------------------------------------

The next morning dawned bright, the sun sneaking through the thin curtains where Waverly Earp lay already awake, eyes tired and heart sore with worry. Next to her, Wynonna was dribbling onto the pillow, snoring loudly, her ringlets sticking up where the lacquer had reset oddly. 

She couldn’t believe her sister was home. Wynonna had left a few weeks after war was announced, leaping at the chance to escape Ward’s drunken fists for a life in the city and the chance to do her bit. Waverly had harboured a childish dream that she’d move out to be with her when she came of age, but within six months, the letters had begun to peter out, and then had dried up entirely. She hadn’t even known how to contact Wynonna when their father had been killed, gunned down in a pathetic bar fight over some stolen cigarettes while avoiding doing his duty; in vain hope, she’d sent a telegram to the last address she had for her sister, but either it hadn’t arrived or Wynonna hadn’t cared enough to come home, and Waverly, aged 17 and more alone than she’d ever been in her life, had done what she’d always done: papered on a smile, and carried on. Then had come Nicole.

She’d been furious, at first, when the letter arrived from the government, advising that her farm was being requisitioned for war production. Even with the land mouldering around her, and the homestead itself sinking into disrepair, she hated the thought of strangers on her father’s land. Two years after his death, she could still hear Ward drunkenly insisting that it was the Earps against the World, and that no one but them could be trusted. But there was nothing to be done about it; either she accepted the help and dragged the farm to productivity, or the government would take the land back, and she’d be left with nothing but a spinster’s room above her aunt’s now-dry saloon, or a marriage of convenience. So she’d filled in the form in her painfully neat handwriting, and stooping under the weight of yet another disappointment, mailed it back.

She’d never regretted anything less. Nicole had arrived with the thaw, and under her care, Waverly had been revived. It was hard, sometimes, when the need for secrecy and the world’s unkindnesses got heavy, but they always worked it through, in the quiet hours alone when they soothed each other’s worries and unknotted the tangled web of their shared lies. It was love, pure and simple, even if it was underlaid with the blue anxiety of much-feared repercussions. 

At her shoulder, Wynonna stirred, huffing an unintelligible stream of words, before sinking back to sleep. Outside in the main room, the creaking of the floor suggested that Waverly wasn’t the only person up, and without conscious thought, she gravitated towards the noise.

Nicole was trying to pull on her boots without making a sound, but in a wooden house that was barely more than a shack, it was next to impossible; Waverly smiled hearing the soft curses muttered under her beloved’s breath. She got within arms reach before the red head spun around, alarmed, dropping a shoe with a clatter; without thought, Waverly sunk into her embrace, wrapping her arms around the lithe, soft waist, and burrowing her face into the older woman’s chest.

Nicole chuckled. “This is a nice surprise.”

“Missed you.” Waverly said simply, inhaling deeply; the smell of Nicole’s skin – a sweet, fresh sort of scent – had calmed her from before they were even friends, and she bathed in it now, while they had the opportunity.

“I missed you too, darling.” Nicole murmured, pressing kisses to the top of Waverly’s head, while her long fingers played with Waverly’s loosely plaited hair. “How did you sleep?”

“I don’t sleep, without you.” The younger woman admitted sheepishly, a light blush covering her cheeks.

Nicole beamed. “That makes two of us, then.”

Waverly couldn’t help then but to rise on her tip-toes and press her mouth to Nicole’s, relishing the softness and the taste. Forgetting in the haze of the embrace any sense of risk, she deepened the kiss, Nicole’s hands moving to her lower back and tugging their bodies closer together. 

The crash of the door being flung open had them springing apart, embarrassed and flustered. From the bedroom, Wynonna staggered out, eyes half-shut still with sleep. “Coffee.” She growled, not looking at the couple standing guiltily far apart from each other. “Need coffee.”

“I’ll brew some.” Waverly called into the kitchen, voice raised to be heard over the sound of clanging metal ad occasional cussing. “Coffee?” She asked in a quieter tone, fingering the hem of Nicole’s untucked shirt with a small smile.

“Not for me. I’m going to go change, and then I want to get started on the vegetable garden.” Nicole glanced quickly towards the door, daring to press a hurried kiss to Waverly’s cheek, and with a wink disappeared into the bedroom. Waverly watched her go, sighing happily. From the kitchen, the swearing intensified.

\-----------------------------------------------

“Miss Haught, why didn’t you wake me?” John Henry asked when he emerged around nine, looking pale in the harsh morning light.

Nicole pivoted on the balls of her feet from where she crouched in the soil, throwing a handful of weeds into the barrow. “Its your day off, John. Why would I wake you?”

Doc squinted at his boss, then at the house. “Did you have a to-do with Ms Earp?”

“No.” Nicole answered with a frown. “I’m just doing some gardening.”

The man rubbed his moustache thoughtfully. “Not to speak out of turn, but you ladies normally take your Saturdays together.”

“Oh.” Nicole stood up, rubbing her filthy hands on her thighs. “Her sister’s here. I thought they might like some time to catch up without an audience.”

Doc looked confused, although whether for the hangover or the news, Nicole couldn’t say. Not keen to field anymore personal questions, the farmer continued, “She plated you up a breakfast. Go and eat before you fall down.”

“I assure you I am quite alright.” Doc said sternly; Nicole pursed her lips, pointing towards the house. 

“Food first, and then I might let you help me dig the new outhouse. The old one is getting…full.”

Doc blanched, the stale whiskey in his stomach roiling. “Well, just a quick bite. Because you insisted.”

The house was cool; from inside the kitchen came the sound of voices. Running a hand through his hair to smooth it down, Doc Holliday advanced. 

“Ladies.” He said with a grin as he stepped into the room. Waverly smiled at him kindly, rising to her feet and moving towards the small pantry tucked against the back wall. “Sit down, Henry, I’ll grab you something to eat.” 

“Much obliged.” He slid into a seat, sighing as his tired muscles relaxed, before turning his eyes on the room’s other occupant. The woman watched him with an expression akin to a predator. “I do not believe we’ve met. John Henry Holliday, at your service.”

The woman snorted. “As in Doc?”

“As in whatever you like, m’am.” Doc smirked.

Across the table, the woman showed her teeth. “Wynonna Earp.”

“It is very nice to make your acquaintance, Miss Earp.” Doc leaned his elbows on the table. To his delight, Wynonna followed suit, her eyes teasing.

“Play your cards right, cowboy, and it might be.”

“Breakfast.” Waverly said, looking with a furrowed brow between the pair at the table, and sliding a plate with two pieces of bread and some cold cuts in front of her farm hand. “We’re going into town for a few hours. Do you need anything?”

“No thank you, m’am.” Doc watched as Wynonna slowly rose to leave, hips swaying tauntingly. He shook his head. “Learn your lesson, Holliday.” He chuckled to himself, digging into the food with a grim determination.

Nicole was wheeling the barrow across the yard when Wynonna and Waverly stepped out into the sunshine. She smiled. “Going out?”

“We thought we might step into town.” Waverly said brightly. She was wearing her best suit, Nicole saw, the rose-pink with cream buttons that made her olive skin glow, and the cream off-the-face hat that Nicole had ordered from New York that spring, feeling lavish in spending a full $4 just to make her lover smile. “Would you like to come?”

Nicole opened her mouth to respond. “She’s busy, Waverly. She doesn’t want to trudge into town, do you, Haughty?” Wynonna said easily, already starting down the path towards the road. Nicole pulled a face at the nickname.

“You go on.” She said, holding her arms out with a shrug. “I’d have to have another bath just to be fit to be seen.”

Waverly bit her lip. “Right. I’ll see you later?”

“You’d better.” Nicole winked.

From the lintel that marked the entry to the homestead, Wynonna hollered. “Waverly, come on! Quit jabbering.”

Rolling her eyes good naturedly, Waverly trotted to catch up, her brown leather boots catching in the mud as she went. 

“What do you two find to talk about?” Wynonna asked as they meandered towards the roadway, the sun already warm on their faces. 

“Oh, this and that.” Waverly shrugged noncommittally. “We’ve been friends for a long time now.”

“Huh.” Wynonna knitted her brows. “She doesn’t seem your type.”

In her chest, Waverly’s heart stuttered. “How so?” she managed, pleased at how even her voice sounded.

“Your friends were always so…girlish. Chrissy, Stephanie, Beth. Haught seems more down to earth.” Wynonna barked a laugh. “Literally, given that she seems to like crawling in it.”

“She works hard.” Waverly said defensively. “If it wasn’t for her, they’d have repossessed the land years ago. After daddy…”

Wynonna stopped laughing. “We’d have made do.”

Waverly felt anger rising in her throat. _What ‘we’?_ , her inner voice demanded. _There was no ‘we’, there was just me, and Nicole, and that stupid old farm._ But she didn’t say it. Couldn’t say it, no matter how much she wanted to – not when she’d just gotten her sister back. Instead she just hummed, low in the back of her mouth, and kept walking in frustrated silence. Wynonna must have sensed the change in atmosphere, because for once she held her tongue, staring solemnly over the prairie at the miles of nothing.

As they neared the edge of town though, Wynonna smiled wide and fake. “So, any fellas you’re hiding away? Anyone I need to go brow beat? Or beat-beat?”

Waverly shrugged in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner. “No, I’m much to busy for that between school and the book.”

Wynonna pulled a face. “What book?”

Waverly’s eyes lit up. “Its all about the history, geography and people of the Ghost River Triangle. Sort of a one stop guide to the area. We’ve been working on it for over a year already. Jeremy thinks that we might be able to market it as a field guide or-“

“Jeremy?” Wynonna asked, stopping short in the middle of the road with her eyebrow raised and a filthy grin on her face. “So there is a man!”

“No no no,” Waverly rushed out, waving her hands in front of her, “Jeremy is just a friend. A pal. Who happens to be a man.”

“Sure, babygirl, sure.” Wynonna chuckled at seeing the colour rising up Waverly’s neck. “I never had you down for such a prude.”

They started walking again, Wynonna still laughing quietly to herself. “So when can I meet your…man friend?”

Waverly groaned. “You aren’t going to let me live this down, are you?”

“Not a chance.” Wynonna chortled, giving a playful shove to her sister’s shoulder. Waverly shook her head, giggling, feeling suddenly nostalgic for the girls they had once been. “I know I haven’t been here for you, but I’m going to make it up to you, Waves.”

Waverly smiled at the sincerity in Wynonna’s voice, wanting more than anything to believe the words. The moment felt heavy, and tense, laden with regrets. “Ok.”

Wynonna cleared her throat awkwardly. “Starting with giving this ‘Jeremy’ a talking to. Make sure he knows what happens if he dallies with my little sister.”

Waverly shook her head. “Its good to have you home, Wynonna.”

Wynonna pursed her lips in a tight smile. “Yeah, well, Purgatory might not be Toronto but at least it has you.”

Purgatory when they arrived on Main Street was teaming with Saturday shoppers eager to be parted with their weekly pay packet; wherever the sisters went, eyes followed them, and whispers set off in all directions like wild fire. It had been something of a scandal when Wynonna, unmarried and wild around the edges, had left for the big city. Most of the town had been glad to see the back of her, with her shamelessness and a seemingly constant train of chaos trailing behind her, but it hadn’t stopped tongues flapping.

At her side, Waverly felt Wynonna begin to tighten, to wind in on herself, like a mechanical toy that at a touch would skitter away or explode. Her eyes slowly hardened, chin held high, and her fists clenched. It was a scene played out often in their youths, and one that Waverly had hoped would have been left behind. Without a word, she slipped her arm through the older woman’s, squeezing her wrist with a gloved hand. 

“Waverly!” Waverly mentally hissed in annoyance; in her concern for her sister, she hadn’t seen Champ approaching. “I hoped I might see you. And…Wynonna?” The man blinked, before a smirk crawled across his face. “I didn’t know _you_ were back in town. How long has it been, huh?”

“Not long enough.” Wynonna muttered. 

“How can I help you, Mr Hardy?” Waverly asked quickly, aware that she was being rude but keen to avoid a scene. If Champ noticed her curtness, he didn’t show it.

“Seeing as it’s a Saturday and we’re both free, can I buy you a drink? Gus will sell us some ginger wine if I ask nice.” 

Waverly tried to look sorrowful. “Oh, I’d love that but as you can see my sister is back in town and I’d like to spend some time with her.” At Waverly’s elbow, understanding dawned on Wynonna’s face.

“Tea.” The brunette interrupted.

“Sorry?” Champ’s brow furrowed.

“No, Wynonna, I don’t think-“ Waverly began, seeing where the conversation was going.

“Shush, Waverly, don’t be silly. Champ can come to tea. Tomorrow, if he likes.” Wynonna grinned, leaning over to tap the man’s bicep hard with the back of her hand, causing him to stumble slightly on his wounded leg. “I’ll be chaperone, don’t you worry yourself about that. Can’t have you two lovebirds making merry, can we?” Waverly’s eyes went wide at the insinuation, but Champ beamed.

“That’d be great. Thanks Wynonna.”

“Fantastic. Shall we say two o’clock?” Wynonna didn’t wait for an answer, already dragging a stunned Waverly away. “Don’t be late!” She called over her shoulder.

“What did you do that for?” Waverly hissed as soon as they were out of earshot, tugging herself free from Wynonna’s grasp.

“Babygirl, I get it! I understand now why there aren’t any suitors hanging around. You’ve got your eyes on Champ bloody Hardy! You sly dog.” Wynonna hooted. “Can’t say I see the appeal, but don’t you worry – I’m here now. We’ll court the shit out of him. He won’t know what the hell is happening.” 

Waverly tutted half-heartedly at the swearing, feeling a long forgotten sourness curdling under her ribs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Wynonna, but sometimes shes about as intuitive and subtle as a half-brick. Actually who am I kidding, that's why I love her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, there's been alot on and I would rather have...well you'll see below...than write a love story. But I'm here now, and here we are, and here we go...

The homestead was quiet by the time the sisters returned, the mid-afternoon sun baking the ground. A little way from the main house, Waverly could see Nicole and Doc sweating profusely, digging a deep hole next to the privy which would serve the farm until the autumn chill. Nicole had undone her shirt and was labouring in her vest, and Doc had done away with modesty entirely, working bare chested. It was testament to the fledgling trust the two shared and the remoteness of the homestead, given the potential for scandal the scene could elicit if witnessed by the wrong eyes.

“Well, you’ve been holding out on me, baby girl.” Wynonna whistled appreciatively. “That farmhand of yours is something else.”

Waverly pulled a face, before she realised that the older woman’s blue eyes were trained on Doc and not the woman toiling next to him. “Oh, John? Yes I suppose he is. He’s…been very useful to have around.”

Wynonna groaned, raising her eyes skywards as though looking for divine intervention. “Jeez Louise, Waverly, I know you’ve got twinkle eyes for Champ Hardy but you are allowed to _look_ at other men.”

“I do not have twinkle eyes for Champ!” Waverly hissed, glancing over to Nicole to check she hadn’t heard. “And I don’t want to look at other men!” 

Her sister grinned salaciously, and Waverly heard what she’d insinuated. “I don’t mean I don't want to look at men other than Champ, I mean I don't want to look at any-“

“Sure, sure, Wave.” The older woman nudged the younger in the ribs teasingly. “You keep protesting and you’re going to leave no room for doubt.”

“I’m not protesting too-“

“Hello, what have we here?” Waverly started at the shout, turning to where Nicole was striding across the yard, a toothy grin on her dirt stained face.

“Out in public with the goods on display, didn’t think you had it in you Red.” Wynonna smirked. 

Nicole looked down as though remembering, folding her arms over the sweat-damp cotton self-consciously. “Hah, yes. I wouldn’t normally but its been hellish hot today.”

“And in front of a red-blooded man, no less.” Wynonna continued mercilessly.

Nicole furrowed her brow. “Who, Doc?”

“Unless you’ve got other men stashed around this place I should know about?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Nicole shrugged, clamping her hands under her armpits. “You needn’t worry about propriety, Ms Earp, I assure you I wouldn’t bring Waverly’s farm into-“

Wynonna sighed dramatically. “Are you always this serious?”

Nicole blinked. “When its important?”

Wynonna rolled her eyes. “Great. Good talk. Anywho, can’t stand around chatting all day. You’ve clearly got your hands full,” blue eyes drifted back to Doc momentarily, “and I’ve got to get the house spic and span before tomorrow.”

“Wynonna, I don’t think we need to talk about this now.” Waverly rushed out, at the same time as Nicole asked, “What’s tomorrow?”

Wynonna smiled genuinely at the farmer for the first time since she had arrived. “Tomorrow is visiting day.”

Nicole looked confused. “We’re having company?”

Wynonna laughed; at her side, Waverly tried to interrupt again but Wynonna, when she was on a roll like this, wasn’t to be put off. “No, _we’re_ not having company. _Waverly_ is having company.”

On Nicole’s pale face, under the mud and dust of the work day, an avalanche of emotions happened in quick succession: uncertainty, understanding, anger, jealousy, sadness. And then it was gone. The mask of calm interest that replaced it made Waverly’s stomach twist. She knew the game they had to play was harder for Nicole, with her natural honesty and painful dislike of untruths, but she also knew that the older woman was an exceptional player, much to Nicole’s own disgust. “Oh? That’s news. Who?”

Wynonna leaned forwards and paused for effect. “Champ Hardy.”

“I see.” Nicole cleared her throat, her hands dropping to loop into the worn leather of her belt in a show of nonchalance. “That will be pleasant.”

“Nicole-“ Waverly began, but Nicole was already backing away.

“I’ll see you both later. I really need to get this pit dug and the outhouse moved before tomorrow. I’d hate for Mr Hardy to have to smell an open cesspit when he comes courting.”

“Good thinking, Haught.” Wynonna nodded approvingly, tugging Waverly’s arm as she started in the direction of the house. “Lets leave them to it, baby girl.”

Waverly watched helplessly, feeling the rug beneath being tugged away ever so slightly more.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Champ?” Doc asked, the purse of his lips all but hidden by his moustache. “James Hardy, that’s who we’re talking about?”

“Yep.” Nicole huffed, her arm never slowing as she hammered the stakes which would hold the wooden outhouse in place. “That’s the one.”

Doc spat into the stinking mire of the old hole, and took another drag on his cigarette. “Boys a damn fool.”

“He is that.” Nicole agreed, grabbing another peg. 

“He’s in that hotel most nights, and never have I seen such a poor-man's dandy in my life. Wouldn’t know a hard days work if it fell from the sky and knocked him down.”

“He’s a war hero too, John. I would have thought you two would get on.”

John Henry twitched his nose, rubbing subconsciously at the old bullet wound on his shoulder. He was usually careful to keep the scar hidden, but he was getting sloppy. Too comfortable. “Being a war hero is all well and good but he’s still Champ Hardy.”

“You don’t need to tell me twice.” Nicole agreed, rising from her haunches and giving the box a firm shake, testing that it was properly moored. “It’s Waverly’s decision though.”

Doc watched his workmate closely. They weren’t friends as such; Doc couldn’t allow himself to get into that territory. But they’d worked together closely and mostly alone for three months, and he’d gotten to know the stern, determined young woman almost as well as he could remember knowing anyone. He knew, for instance, that she hated to be idle when there was daylight remaining, and that she had a dark sense of humour that only came out when she was genuinely relaxed. And he knew without a shadow of a doubt or a speck of judgement that she loved Waverly Earp, and was loved in return. He also knew that she’d rather eat the contents of the uncovered latrine than have it discussed openly. Still, he felt a duty to try.

Flicking the dogend of his cigarette into the pit, he cleared his throat tactfully. “I should think it would be both your decisions, Ms Haught.”

Nicole straightened up slowly before turning to face the man, her mallet hanging loose at her side. Her face was empty, devoid of expression, but her eyes were cold. “I don’t know what you mean, John Henry Holliday.”

Doc nodded, rubbing his bristly chin. “Given that your business interests are so intertwined, I would think you are allowed an opinion also. You put just as much into this homestead as anyone.”

Nicole’s eyes softened slightly. “I see. Perhaps you’re right.” There was an awkward beat, before the woman gestured at the open pit with her head. “You going to start filling that in?”

They worked in silence after that, shoveling dirt methodically and lost in their own thoughts. They were just finishing, Nicole just pulling out the pole that would leave a small vent, when Waverly appeared in the twilight. “Nicole? Can we talk a moment?” she said in a small voice. Nicole stood, and threw the soiled wood behind her into the long grass of the darkening paddock, but said nothing.

Doc looked between the two. “I do believe that’s my cue, ladies. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to draw some water for my ablutions and retire for the night.”

“Nicole, it really wasn’t how it sounded.” Waverly whispered as soon as Doc rounded the side of the main building.

“Not here.” Nicole said quickly, gesturing over her shoulder to the prairie beyond. “Let’s walk a little.”

They made for the fence, which Nicole hopped, holding Waverly’s hands to guide her over. The touch was warm, and gritty, and when Nicole didn’t drop one hand as they picked their way through the gloom, Waverly felt a rush of hope. They walked to a nearby oak tree, far enough to be out of the light from the lamps brightening the windows of the homestead but close enough that walking back in the dark held no fear. Nicole leaned against the trunk, eyes closed, allowing Waverly chance to take her in. She’d pulled her shirt back on as the night chill set in, rolled at the sleeves and untucked, and the scent of week old lie soap, earth and perspiration, underlay with the uniquely _Nicole_ smell that was like vanilla and cooking sugar, was a balm on Waverly’s strained nerves.

“I wanted to talk to you about it, to explain properly, but Wynonna…” Waverly sighed, resting her shoulder on the rough bark as she scanned her lover’s face. “Well, clearly she had other ideas.”

“I’m not sure what explanation there could be.” Nicole said softly, opening her eyes. “So what, you’re stepping out with Champ bloody Hardy now?”

“No, I’m not.” Waverly said firmly. “I have no interest in him. Him or anyone else, for that matter. I only…”

“You only what, Waverly?” Nicole said, and she sounded for once very, very tired.

“I only want you.”

Nicole exhaled deeply, staring off into the distance where the mountains loomed against the navy sky. Tentatively, Waverly reached out and took her hand, gratified when she didn’t pull away.

“Is it too much?” The older woman asked, face still turned away.

Waverly frowned. “What do you mean?”

Nicole shifted, and Waverly saw the deep lines of worry on her face. “This, between us. Is it too much for you?”

“No. I know its hard sometimes, with the hiding and the…the lies. But for me its worth all of that, Nicole. I can’t go back to being without you. Without us.”

Nicole looked at her feet, and Waverly swallowed heavily. “Is it too much for you?”

“No.” Nicole answered quietly. “I love you and I’m not going anywhere as long as you want me here.”

“Forever, then.” Waverly stepped closer, dragging Nicole’s strong arm around her shoulders. 

Nicole pressed a kiss to Waverly’s hair, but even without seeing, she could tell that the redhead was still unsure. “Talk to me.”

The long, low breath tickled Waverly’s scalp. “I don’t want to be jealous. And I won’t make a fuss if you wanted to court Champ.”

Waverly stepped quickly back, an affronted expression on her face. “What does that mean? I should darn well hope you would make a fuss if I was to go off with someone else instead of…instead of…acting like this is just some _fling_!”

Nicole stood up from the tree, shaking her head in the moonlight. “That's not at all what I’m suggesting.”

“Then what are you suggesting, Nicole?” Waverly said in annoyance, hands on hips. 

Nicole ran a hand over her hair, smoothing the strands breaking free of her plait. “I don’t want you to go with Champ, ok? The thought of it makes me feel physically sick, it makes me feel like I could knock his head off with my own two hands. But…I’d understand if you decided he was the better choice. With him, there’s no fear, Waverly – no risk of losing your position, or of ridicule. You wouldn’t have to be careful or secretive. Jesus, you could shout your love from the top of the school building and the town would come out to cheer.” Nicole continued with bitterness in her voice. “It would break my heart to lose you, but I wouldn’t stand in your way if you want to take the easy road.”

Waverly gritted her teeth. “I don’t care about any of that.” She hissed. “And if you think I do, maybe you don’t know me as well as I thought.” 

“Waverly, please.” Nicole began, but the other woman was already marching away, stumbling slightly over clods in the dark but never slowing her path back to the homestead. “Shit.” 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wynonna straightened a freshly pressed doily on the back of a chair, and looked over her handiwork with a pleased smile. She had never been one for the homely arts. After their mother left and their elder sister vanished, the housework had, in theory, fallen to her as the oldest woman in the house; consequently, they’d lived in a perennial state of grimy chaos until she’d finally been able to escape their father’s drunk clutches and flee to the city, not stopping until she hit the coast. She’d been amazed to see how tidy her sister managed to keep things in her absence, but only slightly; whatever cleaning, washing, or cooking had been done in their youths had been by Waverly’s hands, even at such a young age. Not that their father gave more thanks than the back of his hand for it. 

In her chest, Wynonna felt a familiar twinge of guilt.

She knew without being told that she’d let her sister down. She’d been the older one, the one who cradled Waverly from the worst of Ward’s outbursts and the barbed whispers of the dirt-path town they grew up in, and then, at the first opportunity, she’d run. For the first few months things had gone fine; she’d worked hard, managed to keep up the letters home and enjoy the excitement the city had to offer, but one wandering hand from the dirty old foreman at her spartan munitions factory and she’d been out on the curb with nothing but bruised knuckles and an empty purse. After that, things had gotten hectic, and often scary, and she’d forgotten all about Purgatory while she struggled to keep her head above the torrent.

She was here now, though, with her baby sister all grown into a young woman and the town…well, the town was the same hell hole it had always been, but the point _was_ that Wynonna Earp was not going to let her family down again.

The front door jumped open, revealing an angry looking Waverly, who strode through and slammed it shut behind her. 

“Hey, baby girl, look at this. I’ve rearranged the living area to make it more-“

“I’m going to bed.”

Wynonna blinked, her hand hovering in the air, index finger extended. “Its 9 o’clock, don’t you want to-“

“No, Wynonna! I’m sure its fine!” The bedroom door closed with a thud. Wynonna blinked, unsure at what had just happened. Moving towards the window, she squinted into the dark, just able to make out a figure with fiery red hair climbing the fence and moving with heavy, weary steps across the yard. Wynonna narrowed her eyes.

“Not on my watch, Haught stuff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I didn't expect to be doing when I woke up this morning: Googling 'do you have to vent a cess pit'. Yes, yes you do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. So, it has been a long old minute, and I'm not going to try and offer any excuses, but I am still going with this fic. We're about to get into the angst chapters, so grab a cup of tea, settle in, and lets go through it together, eh?

The dawn sky was tinted pale gold, driving out the darkness of the night, and above the slumbering shack a flock of birds flew, looking for all their numbers like a net cast over the house. Nicole breathed in deeply as she stepped out of the front door, pulling it quietly closed behind her. Her eyes burned with tiredness, and the pall of the previous evening’s argument clung to her skin, making her feel itchy and restless. She’d lain awake until the first light eased through the curtains before giving up and rising to meet the day. 

“Up early, are we?” A cold voice asked from the retreating shadows at Nicole’s elbow, causing her to jump, one hand clutched to her chest.

Wynonna sat on the bench that ran parallel to the railing, her back leaning against the wooden planks of the homestead. Her hair was in rollers, and she’d pulled an expensive looking embroidered housecoat over her nightdress but had made no other effort to appear decent. In her fingers burned a cigarette taken from the pack of pre-rolled Camels on the bench next to her. Nicole watched the lighted end as Wynonna raised her hand and took a long drag, feeling a momentary jolt of shock – women smoking was still as taboo in Purgatory as it would have been before the war, and that, if Bunny Loblaw and the other local prudes had their way, was unlikely to change.

“I thought I’d make a start on the day.” Nicole smiled thinly, conscious that she’d left the silence to stretch on too long. Wynonna’s eyes narrowed behind the blue-grey fumes. “Lots to do, you know how it is.”

“Thought you’d avoid my sister, you mean?” The dark-haired woman asked after a pause, her voice sweet and head tilted in question. Her blue eyes, however, remained icy.

“No, of course not.” Nicole answered quickly, before cursing herself for rushing. “Why would I be avoiding Waverly?”

Wynonna rose slowly, flicking the butt out over the railing and into the dirt. She stepped closer to Nicole, tipping her face slightly to maintain eye contact with the taller woman. “You tell me, Haught. She was perfectly fine until you two had your little tete-a-tete last night, and when she came back…well, I don’t know what you’ve done but you’re lucky I don’t gut you like a fish.”

Nicole straightened, tucking her thumbs into the lines of her braces. She’d tried her hardest to swallow Wynonna’s jibes, wanting to avoid offending her partner’s family if she could help it, but she’d be damned to hell if she was going to stand on her own porch and let the woman call her out. “Whatever you think you know, Wynonna, this is between me and Waverly.”

Wynonna looked triumphant. “So, there is something.”

“I didn’t-“

“You think you’re pulling the wool over my eyes.” Wynonna continued, folding her arms. “I’m a woman of the world, Haught. I’ve lived a life. A _Life_ , understand? I’ve met all kinds of people, and I know exactly what’s going on here.”

Nicole tried to hold her face still, desperate to neither confirm nor deny whatever Wynonna was insinuating.

“You’ve got some sort of…unnatural pash on my sister.” Wynonna said, clapping her hands triumphantly when Nicole’s mouth fell open. The sound in the still of the Alberta morning was like a gunshot. “I knew it!”

“No, that’s…that’s not…” Nicole stammered.

Wynonna held her hand up. “Stop. I don’t care. The only thing I care about is Waverly. She has always been too kind for her own good, she’d probably let you stay on even if she knew.”

“I-“ Nicole began.

“I’m not Waverly.” Wynonna cut in, her tone broking no argument. “You need to understand, Waverly isn’t like that. She won’t give you what you’re wanting, and she deserves to be happy without you interfering because you’re jealous, or whatever this little tantrum of yours was about. It’s not right, and it’s not fair on my sister. So, you need to back that train up, or there will be consequences.”

Nicole saw red. She jabbed her finger in the air between them, not missing through the haze of her anger the way Wynonna’s eyes followed the gesture, as though wondering whether to let the redhead keep the offending digit or not. “You have no sense what you’re talking about, Earp. Not one bit. And maybe if you actually _talked_ to your sister and _listened_ instead of barging around like a bull in a damned china shop, you’d be able to understand.”

With that, the farmer stomped away, down the step into the dusty yard and clear blue morning beyond, her face a mask of thunder. 

Wynonna watched her go, brow furrowed. “What the hell is her problem?” she muttered, reaching for another cigarette.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Waverly surveyed herself in the mirror, feeling washed out and worn thin despite the colourful clothes she wore. 

Wynonna had insisted on dressing her, and Waverly could see that she was overdressed for church but hadn’t quite had the strength to dampen her sister’s excitement, even it had seemed more brittle than the previous day. It would be strange enough for the townsfolk to see her at the small chapel on the edge of town; she and Nicole rarely attended, claiming the distance and the amount of farm work being done by just three pairs of hands made it untenable. Most of the town had grudgingly accepted it, as long as they turned up at Easter and Christmas; the prairies were still, for many, a wild place, where food was put on the table with sweat, grit and back-breaking labour rather than prayer. It was a generally held view amongst the hard-working, rugged inhabitants of Purgatory that any God worth their salt would understand their weekly absence from his house when it came to judgement day, and if he didn’t…well, better to face that with a full belly than a barren field.

Wynonna had woken Waverly early to tell her that they were going that Sunday, though. It was part of the courting ritual, she’d explained; Waverly, who had grown up in Purgatory just the same as Wynonna and knew that all the ‘courting ritual’ involved was whatever the young men and women stepping out together could get away with, pulled a face. “I really don’t think this is necessary, ‘Nonna.”

“God, Waverly, trust me.” The older woman huffed, rolling her eyes. “I know what I’m doing. We need to make him think you’re marriage material.”

“Jeepers, thanks.” Waverly said sarcastically.

“You know what I mean.” Wynonna waved her off. “Now, I’m going to get the motor ready. Meet you out front.”

Waverly could hear the sound of the engine roaring to life outside and closed her eyes. She could refuse. Could tell Wynonna that she wasn’t interested, could spill the whole story, could explain that there was no heart left to give because it had already been stolen away by Nicole. Maybe Wynonna, who had travelled all the way to the bright lights of Toronto, would understand. 

_Or maybe she wouldn’t,_ a treacherous voice whispered from inside her head. _Maybe she’d look at you with disgust, and you’d lose the only family you have left._

Outside, the car’s ridiculous horn sounded. Waverly grimaced at her reflection. It was just one afternoon. What harm could come from that?

\--------------------------------------------------------

Nicole watched from her place on the stoop as Wynonna’s Rolls Royce pulled into the yard, its silver sidings spattered with dirt from the unfinished country roads. Champ sat in the front, looking uncommonly pleased with himself to be chauffeured around in such a fine automobile. At his side, Wynonna wore an annoyed expression, scowling at the boy-man’s continuous chattering. Waverly sat in the back, and Nicole felt her stomach churn at the expression of misery on her beautiful face.

Rising to her feet, Nicole dusted her hands on her coveralls, more from habit than any necessity, and strolled forwards nonchalantly to meet them. 

Champ jumped out of the car, reaching to get the door for Waverly; he wasn’t quick enough, winding himself on the edge of the frame as Nicole yanked the suicide-door open with a flourish, holding her hand out to help her lover down. Waverly smiled, eyes brightening of their own accord.

“Made it back in one piece, then.” Nicole said, her voice low and tentative.

“Just about. Wynonna drives…well. Its an experience.” Waverly chuckled, her thumb rubbing circles on the back of Nicole’s hand. At their side, Champ cleared his throat, holding out his arm with a wink. Waverly pursed her lips, looking up at Nicole with an apologetic face.

“I’m sorry I missed you earlier.” Nicole stepped back, pulling her hand free. “I’ll see you later?”

Waverly nodded. “Of course.” With that, she looped arms with Champ and allowed herself to be led away, towards where Wynonna was standing, arms folded, at the front door. She regarded Nicole with narrowed eyes. Raising her hat an inch from her head in greeting, Nicole turned and sauntered towards the barn, deciding it might be a good idea to check over the drains around the homestead. If that brought her within earwigging distance of Waverly’s date, well, that would hardly be her fault.

\--------------------------------------------------------

Waverly shifted in her seat. Wynonna had left half an hour ago, muttering something about an errand she had to run and accepting none of Waverly’s protests as she scuttled backwards out of the door, calling a wicked “don’t do anything I wouldn’t” as it closed to. Champ had taken that opportunity to move closer than propriety strictly allowed. Waverly had shuffled back in her seat until the arm of the ancient sofa was digging into her back, and now they were sat with their legs pressed close together; she couldn’t reach to put down her cup without shoulder barging the man out of the way. It felt claustrophobic, and not for the first time that afternoon, Waverly thought longingly of the early days of her courtship with Nicole, the woman always careful to let Waverly set the pace while still managing to wear her intentions brazenly on her sleeve during each encounter. 

“Mmm, that’s nice.” Waverly murmured, only half listening to the incessant stream of babble that seemed to pour out of Champ Hardy like water bubbles from a spring. She let her eyes drift towards the window. She couldn’t see from that angle where Nicole might be, and she wondered if the woman was still sat on the porch or if she’d found another one of the endless tasks that a rural, run-down homestead generated.

“I said to him if he was going to speak to me like that, he’d better have the fists to back it up.” Champ continued, puffing out his chest in a display of alpha male machismo. “I told him, I can take a calf to its knees in 8 seconds flat and I ain’t scared of-“

Waverly stifled a yawn, letting her focus drift to the yard again. Her anger from the previous night had cooled with time, as it tended to do. Waverly was first and foremost an Earp, and like the long line of Earps before her, she had a temper that flared hot and fierce like a wildfire in July, and which if left unchecked would burn down whole forests. Just like wildfire though, eventually it would run out of fuel and dampen itself out. The long, dull church service had given her chance to consider Nicole’s words; the older woman had been giving her an out, a chance at an easier life if she wanted it, without judgement or bitterness. Stupid, self-sacrificing woman, Waverly thought, running her index finger absent-mindedly over her bottom lip in thought. Nicole, she knew, loved her. She showed it with the care and dedication that she took with the homestead in Waverly’s daily absence, and the freedom she gave Waverly to follow her true wants, whether that be writing the epic tome of local lore with Jeremy or teaching all hours in the tumble-down school when there was so much work to be done on the farm. Her giving Waverly the option to step away from her with Champ was just an extension of that; a ridiculous, infuriating, insulting extension, but it came with the best of intentions. 

“Yes, that would be lovely.” Waverly responded without thinking to a question that she’d heard but that her brain hadn’t registered, too lost in her own thoughts of how she and Nicole might make up their row, and how they could do so without Wynonna hearing.

“That’s wonderful! I’ll pick you up on Friday from the school?” Champ was grinning at her. His slick hair had come loose in the heat, flopping in front of his forehead, the pomade clumping in little white balls.

“Friday?” Waverly asked, blinking.

Champ took her hands in his own; they were hot, and sweaty, and they closed around her fingers like a cage. “Waverly, you’ve made me so happy agreeing to step out with me.”

“I don’t-“ Waverly began, searching around desperately for some way to back out of the trap she’d walked herself into.

From behind them came a slamming sound, as of someone kicking a wooden post. Waverly leapt to her feet, wrenching her hands from Champ’s grip. Out of the window, she could see Nicole striding away. The other woman was hunched, her battered old Stetson folded in her hand as she marched towards the road. As she stormed passed the lintel, Waverly saw her slap the post hard.

“She’ll hurt her hand.” The brunette mumbled. In his seat, Champ leaned back, crossing his legs and smiling to himself at another victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I nickname this story: "Please Stop Helping, Wynonna".

**Author's Note:**

> I'm jumping out of my comfort zone on this one, and researching as I go. Feedback is very welcomed.


End file.
